


Crazy Love

by Wickedtruth



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Accents, Comment Fic, First Time, M/M, accent!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wickedtruth/pseuds/Wickedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha has a thing for Jensen's accent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy Love

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was:
> 
>  _Jensen/Misha southern accent kink. I heard Jensen singing Crazy Love the other day and I like died. His southern accent <3\. Just, anything that worships it. Maybe like Jensen tries to hide it because he thinks people will think he's a hick but Misha finds it ridiculously hot to the point of burning and is always trying to hide the attraction until he doesn't. Hell, I don't know. Just...something with it! :)_

There really isn't much Dean in Jensen, though there's quite a bit of Jensen in Dean. Misha's always found it fascinating, watching other people act and trying to figure out how much is the character and how much is the actor. He likes being there when they come off set, likes to see how they shed the character; all at once, like a wet dog shaking itself, or a piece at a time, like a trail of bread crumbs to the person under the role. He likes seeing what traits linger, after the clothes and the make up have come off.

The face splitting grin and the wink, they stick with Jensen once he's done stripping everything else Dean away, but that's about it. Apart from those two things, they are very different people, Dean and Jensen. They don't dress the same, they don't share the same mannerisms, their speech patterns are different and they definitely don't sound the same.

Misha's kinda glad about that last part, because as nice as Dean's voice is (throaty and rough edged), he thinks Jensen's normal tones (softer, smoother, warmer) are damned hot and he's sure that the show would be one angel down if Dean sounded like Jensen, because there's no way he could concentrate on lines and marks and cues if he had to listen to Jensen all day. And, while the studio is generally forgiving of his eccentricities, they wouldn't be nearly so forgiving if he starts costing them lost shooting time.

Off set, it's both harder and easier to resist the urge to press Jen against a wall and make him recite sonnets, or love songs, or even a fucking shopping list. Easier, because there are almost always other people around, so they're rarely alone together. Harder, because when Jensen's tired or a little drunk or just comfortable with the people around him, then a hint of that rich southern accent starts creeping in. He confided in Misha, in that endearingly tipsy way he has, that he doesn't like his accent much, has spent years trying to hide it because he was worried that people would hear it, take one look at him and assume that he was just a pretty Texas boy with nothing between his ears. Misha's absolutely certain that no-one could spend more than five minutes talking to Jensen and not realise he's a pretty smart guy (and just pretty, of course, Misha certainly isn't blind, after all).

But Misha's an adult, he can handle the all too infrequent times when that lazy drawl appears, making him think of sticky sweet molasses and the warmth of the late summer sun on his skin. He's learnt how to deflect, how to hide behind random comments and non-sequiturs. He's an actor, after all; this is just another part to play.

So he goes to the bar after work with the rest of the crew, hangs around at the random parties, goes to the cons and the press junkets and does what he usually does and makes sure that no-one knows what he's really thinking (sweat and ripe berry lips and the slow crawl of electricity up his spine), every time Jensen's voice betrays his roots.

He's doing damned fine, thankyousoverymuch, right up to the point when they're shooting scenes in the middle of the night, and the heavens open without waning. Somehow, in the confusion of people running for cover, he ends up in Jensen's slightly cramped trailer. The rain is loud on the roof, like a slightly out of time tune that he thinks he can _almost_ place. Jensen must think the same, because he picks up the guitar that lives in the corner of the room and starts idly plucking at the strings.

Misha sits quietly in the corner of the trailer, watching Jen's fingers moving across the guitar. Like the rain outside, it's hypnotising and soothing and it's the reason he doesn't realise that Jensen's humming under his voice, something that Misha doesn't recognise, but that sounds a little country. Jen's lost in his own world, one leg curled up under him, head bent forward, his foot gently tapping in time to whatever it is he's playing. He looks serene and peaceful and really, Misha doesn't know whether he should be immortalised in bronze, or ravished and mussed up. Maybe both.

He thinks maybe Jensen's forgotten he's there when the humming turns into singing. Misha strains to hear him over the sound of the rain and the distant rumble of thunder outside.

Misha has absolutely no idea what the song is called and really, he doesn't actually give a fuck. He's far too busy watching strong fingers working the guitar and lips shaping themselves around the words, like Jen's tasting them. There's thunder outside and what feels like lightening inside, raising the hairs on the back of Misha's neck and making his nerves jump with little static shocks.

The air is close and despite the rain still beating down, it's warm and humid in the trailer and Misha can feel the prickle of sweat in the small of his back that's only slightly related to the actual air temperature. Because apparently, the accent slips through when Jensen's singing, too. He catches himself leaning forward, trying to hear more clearly. Jen's voice is deep, rich and even smoother than when he talks and that Texas accent is coming through clear and sweet.

Jensen must remember he's there suddenly, because he stops and looks up, shy and reserved, like he used to be around Misha, until they got used to each other and Misha wants to tell him to keep singing, and he wants to erase that slightly nervous look. What he does is take a few steps across the trailer, drop into a crouch and frame Jen's face with his hands. He has no idea what he's doing, he's drunk on Jen's voice, his eyes, the freckles across his face, the faint blush that warms the skin beneath Misha's hands.

He doesn't know he's going to kiss Jensen until he's actually there, lips pressed against Jen's. He doesn't know if Jen's going to be insulted, offended, disgusted or interested.

It's hard to let go, to lean back a little, so that he can actually see the expression on Jen's face without going cross-eyed. Jensen's a little startled, a little confused, but the flush has crept further across his cheeks and his eyes are dark and maybe just a little wild, like Misha thinks his must be. Jensen puts the guitar to one side, carefully, as if he doesn't want to dislodge Misha's hands, which are still bracketing his face, then he curls a hand in the tie that Misha's wearing and tugs him slowly in. Jen kisses like he sings, slow and gentle and deep and Misha thinks he's got a better chance of drowning in here than if he were standing outside in the rain.

His knees are aching and his back is killing him and he doesn't know how much longer he can keep his balance, but he doesn't want to stop kissing Jensen. He's surrounded; sight, scent, feel. It's everything that voice promised and more.

He finally has to move, only his legs aren't quite under his control anymore and he ends up sitting on his ass rather than sliding gracefully to his knees, but it doesn't matter because then he's got a lapful of Jensen, whose hands are sliding under that slightly crumpled white shirt and down the back of his pants, while Jensen's lips are moving over Misha's neck, leaving gentle kisses, careful nips and long, slow licks that make Misha tip his head back and swear like a sailor.

Jensen laughs, and tell Misha _I like you like this, dishevelled and off balance_ , while he's pushing the coat off Misha's shoulders. He says _I didn't think you'd be interested_ and strips away the tie. Buttons open under Jen's fingers as he whispers _Why now? Why me?_.

Misha is less careful, less elegant as he shoves the leather coat off, and shoves his hands under t-shirts and shirts and God knows how many other layers until he can touch smooth, hot skin. He's frantic with the need to touch, to taste, to know.

Jen's voice is like ants under his skin, squirming in his stomach and marching across his scalp. He feels it's weight like a physical thing, like another hand, pressing against him in all the right ways. Soft as silk, stroking his flesh like the finest velvet.

He can barely speak, too busy pulling Jen's clothes off and letting Jensen remove his. He can't tell Jen just how hard that gentle southern twang makes him, or what it does to his insides to know he's one of a small group of people who gets to hear it.

It's easier to twist under Jensen until he can roll them over and pin Jen to the floor underneath him. Jensen doesn't stop moving, hands stroking Misha's biceps, his neck, his back; hips rolling against Misha's, keeping time with a tune that only Jensen can hear, a melodic counterpoint to the cacophony of sound and fury that's driving Misha. But Jen's persistent and patient and finally, Misha's body catches up and suddenly they're in sync, moving together, hips and hands and mouths.

What pushes him to the edge, into that breathless moment right before he comes, is the way Jen's leg wraps around Misha's waist, the way he pulls Misha's head down so that he can press his face against Misha's neck, breath hot and damp. What tips him over into the free-fall of orgasm is his name, whispered over and over again as Jen's accent deepens further, voice husky and desperate while his fingers dig deeply into flesh and his body tenses against Misha's, right before he comes, warm and slick between them.

Jen's voice is sex rough and completely unguarded when he tells Misha _I'm never gonna be able to hear the rain again without getting hard_ and Misha thinks that's a fair exchange, because he's never going to be able to be around Jensen again without being hard.


End file.
